December 13 — On the boat ride from N’Gor Island to the mainland for Mulled wine and Christmas Carols at the British Embassy, we met a young fencing master named Cheick. He was over on the island with a lady friend for the day and overheard us practicing with a Wolof phrase book. Speaking in a combination of Wolof, French, English and Spanish he gave us some pointers. I thought it funny that practitioners of two obscure sports should find each other in the same boat from N’Gor. Cheick lamented that the word “fencing” still draws a blank with most Senegalese, but when he mimes a sword fight they recognize it from the few Olympic and world-level fencing athletes the country has produced over the last few years. He did not quite believe what we were here to do until I added that, yes, indeed what we were doing was crazy, and asked him the Wolof word for what that was: “It’s kanasu,” he laughed.
We grabbed a cab and drove along the main coastal road called to Cornish. The sun was starting to set and every single stretch along the highway and the beach was full of men and women of various ages working out. Running, biking, soccer, group calisthenics. The cab dropped us off in front of the British Embassy about a half hour early. Markus paid the cab and thanked him in Wolof, much to the driver’s entertainment. We killed time wandering around the streets, passed another running group, the Belgium Embassy, some other official-looking governmental buildings. At fifteen degrees north of the equator, the sun sets rapidly, and as we rounded the last block back to the embassy we saw two young boys kneeling and facing east, finishing evening prayers.
Security at the embassy was impressive. How, you may wonder, did we get an invite? Through his mother, Markus is the lucky owner of dual citizenship of Canada and Great Britain. His first week in Dakar he stopped by to introduce himself and an invitation was extended to Markus and his family. Since we are rowing across the ocean together that seemed good enough.
A polite man checked off our name to a list and our passports stayed in our pockets unchecked. The wife of the Austrian diplomat arrived at the same time we did. Her name had not made it on the list but a quick flick of the pencil made her invite official.
The embassy residence is colonial style of brick and white stucco. Inside is a large entry way decorated with a few choice antiques from around the world, two pictures of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, and a cheerful Christmas tree. The Ambassador was dressed in blue slacks, a striped blue and white collared shirt. He shook our hands and asked if we must be the rowers. The three of us were dressed in the very best of the three changes of clothing we had brought, and I was glad the ambassador was dressed somewhat more casually than I would have expected. Perhaps we would not stick out quite so much.
The party was centered on the porch on the back of the residence. It quickly filled with a mix of adults and children. Men in white shirts and black ties served appetizers and hot mulled wine – not exactly a beverage made for sub-Saharan Africa, but delicious nonetheless. Being the kid-friendly affair that carols are, we were soon corralled into the main room to commence the main event before bedtime. In my limited experience in Dakar, I have noticed group community music somewhere on the island, or drifting in off the mainland every night. Thinking back, the only times I remember making regular community music back home were Christmas carols.
Singing was well organized, polite, and with each passing carol and sip of mulled wine our voices grew more boisterous… more or less exactly what I would expect from a holiday party at the British Embassy. I can’t imagine this event has changed much over the last 100 years.
I was not really sure what was more funny: that most of my life I have been in a very cold place singing about events that happened in the desert about 2000 years ago, or that I was now in a desert singing about frosty cold places. Maybe it was just the fact that we were two Yanks and a Canuck singing carols at the British embassy.
Carols ended, more food offered, drinks were served and we were back on the island by 11:30pm. Altogether a civilized affair.